


you've hurt me

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: The more he tries not to put his heart into it the more heartfelt it sounds, a song of mourning that grasps weakly at their frayed edges and tries to bring them together, like they used to be, like Freddie used to think they should be.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	you've hurt me

It’s not that Freddie wants to sing it. He’d really rather not, truth be told; the mere idea of it makes something curl up tight in the pit of his belly, hot and angry and (worst of all) miserable. The song itself is bad enough. The _name_ of the song is bad enough. But the _way_ they sing it, just the two of them out there alone with Brian’s guitar and Freddie’s voice? It’s unbearable. Unimaginable. He’s not sure he can think of anything worse.

(Nothing that hasn’t already happened, anyway.)

It’s ironic, then, that the song is actually one of his best; and that the only thing that might just be worse than singing it is _not_ singing it.

They’re halfway through rehearsal when he notices. It’s going fine, so far, because they’re good at that, making things _fine._ Freddie’s voice is in good shape; there’s only minor squabbling over the tempo or the lights of the positioning of the amps. That’s between Roger and Brian; Freddie and Brian don’t argue about anything, now.

They don't really talk to each other much at all.

He doesn’t think to check the set list until they stop for a bite to eat, nearly four hours in. They agreed on it weeks ago, back when they first started to pull the tour together, and it doesn’t even occur to him that anyone might have changed it until he goes to set his beer down on the side and the tatty piece of paper tacked on the wall behind it catches his eye.

_You’re My Best Friend  
Spread Your Wings  
Liar  
~~Love of My Life~~_

He stares at it. He knows what he’s seeing but for a second or two he can’t quite believe it.

He’s angry, immediately, because that’s _his_ song and fuck Brian, he knows it’s a good one (a special one), but underneath all that there’s an awful lurking sense of _hurt_. 

He can’t have that. He can’t afford that. If he gives in to the hurt for even a second it’ll burst through the dam he’s built so carefully and destroy him.

A techie yells something behind him and there’s movement all around as people get back to work; he hears Roger call him and he takes a moment to steel himself, holding onto the anger like a lifeline. Then he rips the paper off the wall and turns round to face the others.

They’re together, the three of them. Roger is looking at Freddie expectantly. Next to him, John is leaning against an amp, trying to mask a yawn. Brian has his back to Freddie, looking out across the empty seating.

Freddie’s hand is shaking, he can feel it.

“What the fuck is this?” he demands.

Roger frowns. “What?”

“The set list,” Freddie says. He holds it up but his fist clenches of its own accord and he ends up throwing the crumpled ball at Roger even though it’s not Roger’s fault. It lands at his feet and Roger quirks a confused eyebrow, but John is looking at him like he thinks he knows what’s happened.

Brian doesn’t turn around.

“What’s wrong with it?” Roger asks, even as he ducks to pick the paper up. He smooths it out and scans the list. Freddie knows the moment he sees the alteration because his brow furrows before he throws Brian a look that’s almost nervous and does not suit his face.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah.” It’s harder to disguise how his hands are trembling now that he doesn’t have the paper to hold onto and Freddie hates it, clenching them into tighter fists by his sides. It’s small comfort that it’s anger, not tears, that has his voice shaking as he hisses out, “Why the _fuck_ did you take my song out, Brian?”

Brian finally turns to at that. His face is utterly unreadable. He looks at Freddie for one long moment, then says, “I thought it was for the best.”

He sounds detached, calm, even, and Freddie’s temper soars.

“You thought – ” Freddie stops, sucks in a sharp breath, wills himself to get it under control. He wants the anger but he doesn’t want this, emotion raging out of control – that’s why Brian left him in the first place, isn’t it, because he’s not _rational_ , not _reasonable_ , he’s _stupid, you’re being stupid, I can’t talk to you like this,_ a hand wrenched out of his and a door slammed shut in his face. “It’s not fucking _up to you_ , we all agreed on that set list, you can’t just decide to change it on a whim.”

“He’s right,” murmurs John. He looks at Brian like he expects to get his head snapped off but Brian doesn’t even look at him.

“It wasn’t a whim,” Brian says.

Silence meets that, because they all expect him to say more. He doesn’t. Freddie laughs, harsh and incredulous, because everything has seemed stupid and pointless for a while now but he’s not sure he’s heard anything more ridiculous than Brian ever having only four words to defend himself with.

“Let’s just put it back in,” Roger says half-heartedly. He’s clearly not surprised at all when he is totally ignored.

“It wasn’t your decision,” Freddie hisses. “You’ve got no fucking right to take it out.”

Brian is still looking at him. It’s too much, Brian’s eyes boring into his, too familiar. It reminds him of late night screaming matches, glasses shattering against the wall and Brian’s lip curling in an ugly sneer; _get a grip, for fuck’s sake_ and _you’re fucking ridiculous_ and _maybe I don’t want this anymore._

Worse, it reminds him of tender early mornings with the curtains only half closed, moonlight tracing patterns over Brian’s back as he pressed kisses to Freddie’s throat and whispered _love you_ s into his skin.

Freddie closes his eyes first. He can’t bear it.

“You had no right,” he says again. His voice trembles; he swallows hard. “It’s not up to you.”

“Then put it back in,” Brian says. He still sounds infuriatingly calm, like this doesn’t affect him at all.

Freddie thinks there’s a chance he hates Brian, now.

-

It’s worse than he’d imagined.

It’s just him and Brian, alone on stage and bathed in warm golden light. Freddie feels cold all over even though the lights are hot and he’s been running about on stage all night. He hasn’t been able to shake the fear that even one person in the audience might see through the façade and realise that he doesn’t mean any of this, the bravado and the laughter and the fierce pride of their music; that someone might look at him and see heartbreak in his face, or notice the terrible emptiness of the space between himself and Brian.

The song is beautiful, Freddie knows it is, it’s always been one of his favourites, and he had been hoping that the melody and the lyrics would carry them through it without Freddie having to pour too much of himself into it. It feels too raw, too painful for words, like his throat will close and his voice will crack and everyone will _know_ – but most importantly, Brian will know, and Freddie can’t have that.

But the more he tries not to put his heart into it the more heartfelt it sounds, a song of mourning that grasps weakly at their frayed edges and tries to bring them together, like they used to be, like Freddie used to think they should be. 

It fails. Brian’s fingers are as gentle on his guitar as they used to be on Freddie’s body and Freddie’s voice is sweet and strong as he croons their lullaby, but he can’t wait for it to be over. Just like them.

Maybe he should have just let Brian take it out.

The audience erupts with cheers at the end just like they always do and Freddie smiles along, nods at them, even does a sweeping little bow; but as he turns away he catches Brian’s eye. Just for a second, he looks so impossibly sad that Freddie almost feels winded by the sight of it.

Then Brian turns away and Freddie loses sight of his face, and it’s time to plaster on a smile for _’39._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry sometimes an angsty idea hits and you just have to 🖐
> 
> PS. follow me on [tumblr](https://rhapsodicalfreddie.tumblr.com/)


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